A Very Good Evening
by kouw
Summary: Chelsie Holiday Exchange fic for downtonabigail. Mr and Mrs Carson await an arrival one chilly Christmas Eve.


Dear _downtonabigail/surdoues_,

Wishing you a very happy Christmas and welcome to this little AU where everything is golden and light for Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes. You didn't leave specifications, so I hope you'll enjoy this and it will add to your Christmas cheer.

Much love and a very merry Christmas to you and to everyone reading,

Kouw

* * *

**A Very Good Evening**

* * *

"I never know what comes out of that bag," he says as he stirs his tea, his feet towards the fire, finally getting warm again after having traipsed through the abysmal weather after Christmas Services.

"Purse," she corrects him. The needles click softly against the other, the sound obscured mostly by the crackling of the fire and the tinkling of the spoon against the china.

"Anyway, it was very nice of Mrs Molesley to lend us her parlour."

"Your parlour," he says and sips carefully.

"The Housekeeper's parlour. And it's no longer mine." She looks up from her work, smiles at her husband.

"Semantics," he grumbles, but returns her smile nonetheless.

"It was a lovely service," she says, making conversation. "Mr Gregson has a very fine singing voice."

"Hmm."

"Lady Grantham looked very regal," she tries again and he only nods slowly. Her eye falls on the clock. Minutes go by slowly.

She ends her row and counts the stitches. He pours another cup of tea. He waits until she is ready: "You don't usually knit."

"You don't usually grumble about being back at the Abbey," she teases him a bit. She is warm again, knows there is a guest room waiting for her and Charles later.

"It's a quarter past one," he points out the obvious.

"You were the one offering to stay, dear."

"Force of habit, I suppose. And we'd stayed up late often enough when we were in London with Mr Gregson and Lady Edith, when they were setting up house and we needed to teach them the ropes."

"I'm sure they'll appreciate it," Elsie says, distracted by her casting off. She holds her work in front of her.

He reaches out, takes it from her.

"It's very small."

"Well, yes. Obviously."

"Do you regret it sometimes?"

She understands. She always does. She only needs half a word, a look, the softness of a held breath to know him.

She stares into the fire. "No. We have it nonetheless, don't we?"

Charles hands back the little sock. "Lady Edith will be pleased to get this. It's lovely work."

"Thank you."

"Do you think she is alright?"

"I don't see why not. Miss Marigold was born _abroad_ and they both made it through that."

They both think of Lady Sybil. Of Lady Mary - who is not at Downton, but is staying with the Napier family this Christmas. Elsie has her own idea as to why (and she doesn't like that she is so cynical, that she thinks that Lady Mary doesn't like it when she isn't the center of attention), but she doesn't share her thoughts with her husband.

He coughs. "Would you like another glass of sherry?"

"No, one is enough and the baby might be born soon."

"I find it hard to believe Lady Edith sat through services whilst she was already…" his sentence trails off, unable to say the words.

"She knows how long it can take," Elsie says, ever practical. She puts the finished sock with the other and wraps it neatly in a piece of tissue paper.

"Unnerving."

"Try to think of something else," she offers.

"I can't think of anything else!"

Elsie gets up from her seat, puts the parcel on the table and opens the door. "Come with me," she says and he follows her down the hall, a little grumpily - due to the late hour and his worries.

"Stand here," she says when he is in the doorway that leads to the main Servants' Hall. He does as she says (doesn't he always?) and waits.

And waits.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asks after a fair few long moments.

"Look up," she says with a twinkle in her eye.

He does and finds a sprig of mistletoe has been hung from the doorpost and he frowns a bit.

"Well?" She starts. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

Her hands are on his lapels and she gently tugs so he lowers his head. She catches his lips sweetly, one hand strays from his lapel to his cheek where she caresses the skin with her thumb.

When she pulls back, he feels warmer, calmer.

"Ahem," Dr Clarkson makes his presence known and Charles steps away slightly from his wife.

"Dr Clarkson?"

"Just wanted to let you know I'll be going home," the doctor says.

"Is everything alright?" Charles asks, his voice catching.

"Absolutely splendid. Mother and child are fine, if tired, which is to be expected. Quick and easy delivery."

The doctor puts on his coat, his hat.

"I didn't want to ring a bell, I didn't know if you'd still be awake."

"Of course we are awake!" Charles huffs and Elsie puts her hand on his sleeve, steadying him.

"We'll let the staff know, thank you Doctor. Mr Carson will see you out."

He watches her flit into her (Mrs Molesley's!) parlour and he escorts the Doctor out the door in silence.

"Mrs Gregson asked me to tell you it would be quite alright of you and Mrs Carson wanted to come in to see the baby, they are letting Marigold sleep, she'll meet her brother in the morning."

"So it's a boy then?"

"Oh, yes, yes it is…" The doctor shivers, the night air more than a little crisp.

"Thank you, Doctor. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Carson."

He closes the door, locks it - falling back into patterns that have dictated his life for decades. When he turns around he finds his wife in the hall, their overnight bag in hand.

"I've just been informed that Lady Edith* would like to see you."

"Me?"

"The doctor said both of us, but I assume that Lady Edith means you."

"Lets not keep her waiting then, she'll want to sleep."

He takes the bag and follows her up - keeping to the side of the stairs as they've always done, once again he is reminded that old habits die hard.

Elsie's footsteps sound loud in the quiet corridor as she rushes towards the room where Lady Edith is. She halts abruptly and he almost bumps into her.

"What's the matter?"

"Her Ladyship has seen the baby, hasn't she?"

"I would suppose so.'

"Alright. Then… yes… I'd better… "

He doesn't often see her nervous. He doesn't know a woman who is more in charge of her emotions than Elsie Hugh… Carson. Even when he had asked her to marry him - in his roundabout way, when she had asked him to formulate his question and he knew in that moment she would accept. Even then she had simply smiled, had said 'yes, I will' in a quiet, warm voice.

He puts the bag down and takes her hand, steadying her for once.

"She just wants to show her baby to you. I think she'd like your approval."

"Whatever does she need approval for? And mine at that?"

"I don't claim to understand, I just say what I think."

Elsie roll her eyes at him and that makes him feel better.

"Do you have your gift?"

"Yes."

He knocks and Mr Gregson opens the door. There's only the soft light of some candles and the fire in the fireplace.

"Ah, there you are, Edie keeps asking when you are coming!"

He is looking bright, happy and not at all tired.

"Mrs Carson wants to know if Lady Grantham has seen the baby yet."

"Yes, she's just gone back to bed, after she was sure all would be well." Michael Gregson smiles. "But do come in, you'll find Edie quite decent."

Elsie steps inside, but Charles waits by the door, leaves his wife to take this moment undisturbed. He watches her sit down by the bed and lean over a bit. Lady Edith is sitting up against the headboard, a small bundle in her arms. He can see them talk, but cannot hear them.

The baby is transferred from the young woman to the elder and he holds his breath a moment as he sees Elsie kiss the baby's soft cheek.

"Do go in, Carson, I can't have the door open too long, might let a draft in."

As he closes the door behind him, he can hear whispers and when he turns he finds his wife with the baby in her arms just beside him.

"He is sleeping…" she says quietly and he looks at the newborn, resting peacefully against his wife, his head supported by the crook of her arm and the swell of her breast.

"Beautiful," he says. He means Elsie, but she isn't looking at him, instead she is staring at the baby between them.

"Isn't he absolutely perfect?" she asks and he kisses her forehead, pushes a lock behind her ear.

"Absolutely perfect."

"What a very happy Christmas."

It's Lady Edith and they both turn, a little embarrassed to be caught in a bubble of gentle tenderness.

"Indeed, Milady. Many congratulations."

"Thank you, Carson."

When they are in bed half an hour later, dressed in their pyjamas and nightgown and her head rests on his chest, he kisses the top of her head, runs his hand over the tight plait and sighs.

"What's the matter?" she asks, as he knew she would.

"Nothing. Just that I had never thought that Christmas could be any more special since we got married."

"Well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, they say."

She leans up and looks at him.

"Happy Christmas, Mr Carson," she says and there is that special smile that she always saves for him playing on her lips.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs Carson. I love you," he replies and her smile widens. She reaches for him and he kisses her.

"I love you too," she says then.

Outside snow starts to fall and as Charles Carson settles for a long winter's nap with his wife beside him, all he can think is that it's been a very good evening indeed.

* * *

* Even if Lady Edith married an untitled man, she'll keep her own title!


End file.
